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The poems

Made by Teresa Marrin
© 2010-2012

camouflage

They say he doesn’t quite beat her
There are worse things than being hit, actually
Subtler things
Harder to spot, harder to define
Harder to sense the damage being done
Like kept at arm’s length
Or left with a bed half-empty every night
A slew of unkind words
A joke that isn’t funny
The cruelty of silence
Love withheld or love resented
Put-downs, delivered slowly, with malice
During dinner or the night out
Or, worst of all, on family holidays

She plies her jewelry, knits her scarves
Goes coiffed and suited to church
Tends a well-kept job every day
Remembers all the birthdays and anniversaries
And one day, much like Richard Cory
Left innocently to herself
Goes home and puts a bullet through her head
To make sure no one ever hurts her again